Cause for Prejudice
by PassionsInsanity
Summary: No. 1. Introducing OFC Abby Franklin Scott. Abby Scott joins the BAU team and during their first case, she meets the team, goes hunting for a L.D.S.K. and they all start to understand the truth and concequences of motives. OC, because OC is love.
1. Part of the public character

"If we were to wake up some morning and find that everyone was the same race, creed and color, we would find some other _cause for prejudice_ by noon."  
George Aiken

* * *

"_All significant truths are private truths. As they become public they cease to become truths; they become facts, or at best, part of the public character; or at worst, catchwords."  
_T. S. Eliot

* * *

07.49

"Good morning darling, what can I get you?"

Almost flabbergasted, Abby Franklin Scott stared at the huge woman before her, her bleach blond hair with four different colours and numerous buttons on her bright yellow shirt. The nickname the woman used was probably one that had filled her mouth million times before. To Abby, it had a different effect than the woman could ever imagine.

A small shiver, uncontrolled and unapproved, ran itself up her back, the hair in her neck rose and suddenly, she became fully aware of the gun on her hip.

It was as if someone had pushed the 'freeze' button of the scenery in the simple café. Already ready to pay, her hand hung somewhere between her chest and the counter. Behind her, she heard the seven year old boy scream at his mother because he didn't get a brownie and the young woman –probably a lawyer – standing behind Abby, tapped her shoe impatiently and annoyingly.

When the woman behind the cashier blinked, Abby was awoken.

"Dubble latté please, extra cream and could you add some walnuts?" The pretty, dark haired woman continued her action and put some money on the counter. She received the change and quickly grabbed her coffee once it was ready, flashing a veneer smile.

"Have a nice day!"

Abby ignored the friendly goodbye from the blonde woman and exited the café. Outside, she waited a moment to collect her thoughts and then shook her head, as if she could shake the thoughts out of her head. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes when she exhaled. She could see the depth of the pit staring at her from below. It beckoned; she made herself oblivious and looked around.

"Bird!"

A fairly large German shepherd ran towards her, wiggling his tail and his mouth open. He greeted her enthusiastic and he sat down next to her, his weight pressing against Abby's leg.

"Where've you been, eh? I thought I told you to stay put."

Abby smilingly petted the dog and mentioned for him to follow as she took a sip from her coffee. Bird ran out in front of her, his nose a few inches above the pavement, smelling, sensing, discovering. She chuckled at the sight of the dog, his long and clumsy legs and fluffy tail.

After she turned the corner and crossed the street with Birdie at her side, Abby approached a large, white, federal building. On the glass doors, she read 'F.B.I. Headquarters'. She looked up at the edifice and sighed. The dog sat down next to her and looked up at her when she looked down at him.

"You ready?" She smiled at the dog and kneeled down next to him. "Ya, I'll just take ya home nacho, we've done all the recon there is to be done. You did good."

* * *

08.23

Determined and confident steps filled the hall as Abby took in her surroundings, the sound of her shoes reverberating within the light, pale buff walls of the FBI Headquarters. The elevator closed behind her when she was halfway through the corridor. There was no going back now. She was approaching two large glass doors and behind it, countless of bull pen's and people walking around. Again, she opened the door and entered the office.

This was a church, she could feel it. Within these walls, the agents were safe from the horror that awaited them outside. In here, they could rest and lay down their guard. In here, it was safe. Despite that, people walked around, talked to each other, hands held files, folders, photo's, eyes read and witnessed the cruelty a human being was capable of.

She looked rather intimidating; her gun in plain sight, visible and noticeable, an adamant and composed look on her face and she tilted her chin up slightly once she walked through the large room. Not many people noticed her; they were used to people walking in and out. Her eyes rushed from name tag to name tag, hearing names, but seeing or hearing no name that sounded like the name of the man she was looking for. Abby refused the urge to tuck her hands in her pocket as that would make her seem careless and at ease. A rather handsome, tall dark man looked at her and she walked up towards him.

"Excuse me."

"Yeah?"

There was an immediate spark between them, a mutual attraction. Abby ignored the feeling between them, but the man let his eyes took her in properly, calculation the threat and her purpose.

"I'm looking for SSA Aaron Hotchner. Could you tell me where he is?" Her thick and heavy, posh British accent was clearly audible.

The man, she presumed was SSA Derek Morgan, looked away from her, towards the office a level higher. Abby spotted the features of SSA Aaron Hotchner and made a mental note to tell Miles, her best friend, that the stories around Aaron Hotchner were probably right.

"He's over there, in his office."

"Thank you."

Derek Morgan followed Abby with his eyes, still unsure of what to think. He had never seen her face before, perhaps she was here for a case, or some other reason? Recreational, maybe?

"Who's that?" Agent Prentiss leant against Morgan's desk once the brunette was out of hearing range. She sipped on her coffee, one hand in her pocket, seemingly at ease and comfortable in the still early morning.

"That's Abby Scott." Doctor Reid, whom had also been sitting behind his desk, leant back in his chair as he watched Abby enter his supervisor's office. Prentiss and Morgan broke their stare to look at their younger colleague.

"How do you know that?"

"I read some of her scripts. She's from the Special Crime Unit in Atlanta. They do all kinds of things, serial, kidnappings, unsolved cases. Her and her team hold the highest record of solved cases, ninety-one per cent. I sort of worked with her a couple of times on lectures and classes, with several other people."

"She teaches?"

"Well, teaches. We gave some lectures about our work, cases, you know."

Morgan opened his hands in slight confusion as he spoke. "What is she doing here?"

Spencer Reid frowned, but then shrugged and he focused his attention back to his paperwork, leaving Morgan confused and worried. He knew, he could feel it. Bugs crawled under his skin, tickling his senses, making him restless and uncomfortable in his own church.

* * *

08.30

"Aaron Hotchner?"

A tall, tired looking but still handsome man's head turned to look up at the dark haired woman. He recognized her face and immediately stood up before closing the file he was reading. He held out his hand. "Abby Scott, I presume?"

She nodded and shook his hand. Hotchner motioned for her to take a seat whilst he sat down himself. So she did and glanced around the room in the meantime. It held a reddish, brownish glow, it was neat, organized, clean. Typical F.B.I. agent behaviour. Three short piles of case files on his desk, which was dust free. Meaningless objects in the room to fill it up and make it cosier. There stood a framed photograph behind him, in the open bookcase; a young boy smiling next to Hotch. She reckoned it was his son.

"How was your flight?"

"Okay, I guess." Abby's head leant on her left hand, carefully observing the older man. Her other hand was placed loosely on the chair's arm and she crossed her legs.

"I read your file." He hesitated as he sought for the right words. "It's quite impressive."

"Thank you. Sir."

He grabbed the rather thick file he earlier put down on his desk and opened it again. "You're twenty-seven, dual citizenship; your father is American, your mother English. You were born in England, immigrated to Atlanta when you were six. You have an IQ of one-eighty-one. Hold PhD's in Psychology, Criminology and Mathematics. You got an undergraduate degree World History. You served in the Army for three years before joining DEA. Joined the bureau when you were twenty-three after you worked with Scotland Yard for eight months, you were accepted in the Special Crimes Unit after a year, all in Atlanta. That's quite a list for a person your age."

"Yes, it is sir."

Hotchner nodded as if asking her to tell him more, his eyes studiously observing her.

"I got graduated university when I was seventeen, with a master in Psychology. I got my PhD's Sociology and Criminology in the four years after that, Mathematics a couple years later. I don't have a lot of friends, don't date much. I'm not afraid of a new challenge, I like to read, don't sleep much, got a lot of free time on my hands as you can guess. I joined the Army when I was eighteen, as said. I was asked for a special sniper training program, but I was discharged long before I completed that. After my last tour in Iraq I joined the DEA, based on my experience in the Army I was accepted into a fast track training course. After a year an old friend got me in with Scotland Yard where I worked for less than a year, and also completed my undergraduate degree in World History. I turned twenty-three and joined the FBI. I did all sorts of different things that fell under CIRG and after a year I was accepted into the SCU. That was almost four years ago now."

Hotch closed the file and let it rest on his desk. He looked at Abby, whom had been looking at him.

"I teach a lot too, with this group of weird scientists and crazy geniuses."

Hotch smiled at this comment. "So, is it professor or doctor?"

"Well, Supervisory Special Agent doctor professor Scott is a tad long, I'll settle for Frankie or Scott."

"Frankie?"

"High school nickname. Kinda stuck."

"Your boss told me you weren't really happy about the transfer."

Abby smiled slightly and placed both her hands in her lap. "Yeah, no offense, but I like my work in Atlanta."

Hotch noticed an immediate change in Abby's behaviour as he started about the subject. He had known about what happened to her team and he knew she had been pulled away in the middle of an important case.

"You're familiar with what we do?" He asked.

"Pretty much the same as what I did before, right?"

He ordered some files and put them together on a small stack as if he was trying to clean up his desk. At some point, he wondered why he suddenly felt the urge. He pushed the thought away and looked back at Abby, whom had been watching him closely. "From what I read, it's pretty much the same. You took the seminar and classes before starting in Atlanta, we'll be working a little differently, mostly because we focus only on the behaviour, but it'll be pretty much the same. This is why I agreed to the transfer. You'll be a great asset to the team."

Abby wondered why Hotch mentioned that they focused mainly on the behaviour. She sensed an underlying meaning, but wasn't sure. With the Special Crimes Unit, she was mostly tracing them, chasing them, kicking down doors, yelling 'F.B.I.!', taking names and interrogating perps. Still, her old team used the behaviour analysis, whereas not as good or intense as they did with the BAU, to narrow down their suspect pool whenever needed.

"I didn't know there was an opening." Abby remarked casually.

"There wasn't."

"So you did my boss a favour."

Hotchner almost sighed, he knew this was going to be far from easy, but Abby seemed somewhat aggressive towards him, hostile. Apparently, it had been an understatement when she said she wasn't happy about the transfer. "He felt you'd be putting your qualities to a better use with the BAU."

Abby snorted. "Which is just a fancy way of saying he wanted to get rid of me." Her eyes didn't seem very moody or dark, quite the opposite. They were light and almost sparkling.

"Basically." Hotch smiled back at her and figured he must have misread her impression of holding back.

"I read his evaluation."

The female nodded, not replying to the comment.

"I reckon you read it as well."

"I have my ways." Abby tried to hide the playful, small smile around her lips, but didn't succeed completely. When Hotch returned her smile again, she figured he wasn't as austere and stern as she thought. Or, perhaps, he was just playing along with her.

"Is it a problem?" He looked at Abby, switching to a completely different mood, with a strong, piercing and almost stern glare, reading every emotion that flashed on Abby's face and interpreting her body language.

She interlaced her fingers, still leaving her hands to rest on her stomach. "I am who I am. I respect my superiors but that doesn't mean I won't trust my instincts or do my job as protocol tells me to do it. I do it my way. I keep others from harm but that doesn't mean I won't put myself on the line. I can't help what I do or how I do it, it's instinct."

"I can understand that."

"Of course you can."

Abby's remark was quick and the light and comfortable air that was created between them, disappeared like vapour dissipated in the air. His eyes immediately sought her face. Though her body language said otherwise, the comment could cut through steal, it was sharp and vehement. It was right on and the air in the room dropped in temperature.

"Excuse me?"

"You said you'd read my file. That would normally have people decide against asking me to come. But you did. We haven't worked together so you can't say that I can do my job and that the way how I do it is only questionable. That would imply that you've talked to my supervisor, my mentor. She would have told me if you had. So you must have talked to my boss. Despite our mutual grudge against each other, we respect each other and know that we can do our jobs and do it well. He knows me as well as my old team." During Abby's explanation, she looked calm and controlled. She was confident and determined, constantly having eye contact with Hotch.

"Impressive."

She had listened to every word that he had said, but also managed to link and combine that with his expressions and body language. She was doing rather well. She picked things up quickly, put them to use, she was a worker and liked to get her hands dirty.

"As said before, I have a PhD in Mathematics."

The air in the office lit up again, and Hotch jumped right in. "You can do the math."

"Exactly." Abby smiled again. This time it was Hotch' time to be straightforward. He leant forward and rested his arms on his desk, hands folded into each other as Abby's. "You mentioned you weren't really happy about the transfer, yet you refer to your team in Atlanta as your old team."

"I was only given a one-way ticket."

"Are you up to it? I need to know if I can count on you, rely on you."

"I'm ready."

"Then let's get started." He stood up from behind his desk while he grabbed a file and headed for the door, Abby following close behind.

* * *

"_It is the nature of truth in general, as of some ores in particular, to be richest when most superficial."_  
Edgar Allan Poe


	2. Save a sinking land

"_You cannot simultaneously prevent and prepare for war._"  
Albert Einstein

* * *

09.10

"Dave, I want you to meet-"

Aaron stopped in the middle of his sentence, not sure what to call her. He partly turned towards the young woman, whom had tucked her hands in her pockets. She smiled at the elder F.B.I. Agent and held out her hand. "Doctor. Professor. Agent. Whatever you like. Abby Scott, or Frankie."

To her vision, he was supposed to be taller. And slimmer. SSA David Rossi was, despite the idea of him being bigger, an impressive man to see nonetheless. There was a certain air of arrogance around him, and he held a look in his eyes that told her he knew everything and could see everything. She had heard about him, like everybody else had in their line of profession, but meeting him here, in person, made her hands sweaty, if only slightly, and his eyes made her nervous. Whenever he blinked and she saw his face with his eyes closed, she could see a tired, but driven man with chubby cheeks. When he opened them again, she could see the lines of the horrific paths he travelled whilst working with the BAU like worry lines in his tanned skin.

Rossi studied the woman closely. He had seen her enter the office, her look, her walk, her attitude. Hotch had informed him that a new agent might join the team because of an upper hand decision, but had his doubts that it was her once he saw her enter the office. She looked too young and she reminded him of Reid. Thing was, he knew what great knowledge Reid's mind contained, not exactly, but approximate. She didn't look all that 'nerdy'. The longer he looked at her, the longer he felt that she had an air around her that cops twenty-five years on the job hold. Not disdain or egotism, quite the opposite. He read her file, briefly, and he knew she had served for three years; two years in Africa and one year in Afghanistan and Iraq. Apparently, three years was enough for a person to make her protective –towards herself but to others more. Regardless of her attitude and her mien, there was one thing that he noticed immediately when laying his eyes upon her. Her eyes were darker in reality. Profound, deep and penetrating. Guarding.

He smiled back at her and shook her hand. "Dave Rossi. I assume you're the newest asset to the team?"

"Yes sir."

"Scott is from the SCU in Atlanta. She was transferred just yesterday." The BAU supervisor commented.

No, he didn't like it. Hotch was used to picking out new members when, due to a probably unfortunate event, there was an opening at the BAU. Not only did he feel passed over, he also wondered why and why her? Something must have happened that they insisted that she was transferred that quickly. He did think however, that transferring her to the BAU might actually be of some good. She was a good agent and a heck of a profiler. Working with Wills in the SCU gave her experience in so many grounds and so many levels. He had read the files that she always added of cases she worked on; detailed, descriptive and down to the core of the Unsub. He also read her evaluation. Yes, there were the many comments about Scott going in her own direction and being a somewhat pain in the ass, but she did her job more than well. She, and her team, held that high percentage of solved cases for a reason.

But mostly, the question 'why' bothered him. Strauss wouldn't give him much information about it and Scott's former boss, David McCallister, and her old supervisor, SSA Angie Wills, were as reluctant to give that information as well. Which left Hotch only to think and to imagine and to worry. He needed to know if she could do it and that he, but also if the team could rely on her. After all, he still didn't know why she was transferred. It could be a million different things; personal relationships, a screw up, trouble at the workplace, mental instability, problems with supervisors, relocation, requests, personal problems. And that didn't even include the more worrying subjects; stalkers, murderer on the loose, mistakes on her hand, a case hitting too close to home.

"Well, it's nice to meet you. How long did you work with the Special Crimes Unit?" Rossi tucked his hands in his pockets and relaxed.

"You're familiar with it?" She was curious and cocked her head to the side, the tattoo in her neck becoming exposed. Rebellious was added to Rossi's list of characteristics as his eyes briefly wondered of the initial IMR. Abby, in her turn, added superstition and protective to hers.

"I've read some scripts from Agent Wills' team."

"That's my old boss." She told him.

"Hell of an agent." Rossi in his turn commented.

"I worked for her for almost four years, she's the absolute best."

Rossi nodded, almost in approval. Though he didn't personally know Agent Wills, he had met with her twice; once during a case and when his book tour took him to Atlanta. Scott's and Rossi's 'get to know each other talk' was interrupted by an elegant and classy blonde approaching them, her strides long and firm, determined, and bunch of files in her hand.

"Hotch. We got a case. Columbus, Mississippi." The man addressed, Hotch, was obviously awoken from his thoughts and he looked at the blonde woman.

"Thank you, assemble the team, conference room in five." The woman nodded as she handed Rossi a file as well. "Oh, and I'd like you to meet SSA Abby Scott. Scott, this is Jennifer Jareau, she's the team's media liaison."

Again, Abby kindly held out her hand and shook the blonde's.

"JJ, nice to meet you."

"Hi, how are ya?"

She noticed a long-existing aura around the woman; it was an unnatural beam of energy and purity. JJ held a form of innocence, as if her eyes and mind had not seen the photos, not been around the tragedies, not witnessed the destruction human hands could do. Obviously, she had no time to chit chat as she smiled at Abby's obvious rhetorical question (she was British, after all. Asking 'how are you' is a standard, almost a part of greeting someone) and turned to leave. Hotch started to walk towards the conference room, Rossi right next to him, both looking at the case file they had gotten. Abby went into the pursuit when she realised they had forgotten about her.

* * *

09.14

"You should lie of the sugar."

Doctor Spencer Reid glanced over at the dark male that sat back and relaxed in the office chair. He frowned slightly but continued to pour sugar into his cup of coffee. "Did you know sugar primarily comes from plant sources, from sugar cane and sugar beet?"

Morgan brought his own coffee mug to his lips while keeping eye contact with the genius. "No. Now, why would I want to know that?"

"Because a lot of people think that it comes from fruit, honey, sorghum or sugar maple. Some even think it's fabricated."

"So?"

Reid now completely rotated towards the dark F.B.I. agent and Morgan could tell by the way he stood, how he moved his hands and from the look on his face, he was going to throw out a mile of words and lists of facts. Before he could calm the younger man down, it was too early for facts and Reid's word explosions, JJ walked up to them.

"Guys."

Two heads turned towards her.

"Abby Scott."

JJ's head now moved to watch Reid with a blank but slightly confused stare. "How did you know I was going to tell you that?"

"It's been going around." Emily Prentiss joined the group and the four of them stood there, sipping on their coffee, watching Abby follow Rossi and Hotch to the conference room.

"Do you know why she's here?" Prentiss asked the other woman.

"No, but since Hotch introduced me to her, I'm guessing she's not just visiting." JJ answered softly.

Silence interrupted and took over.

* * *

09.16

From the corner of her eye, Abby saw the BAU team gather around Morgan's desk after abandoning the kitchen counter. She could tell they were talking about her, their heads turned to look at her too often and they stood close to each other, as if protecting the group from an outsider. It was what she was, after all. An outsider. And she had come unannounced, unexpected, bargaining into their team and the little world they had created. If she had been in their shoes, she wouldn't have liked it any less. Actually, she didn't like it any less. She hated it and the way it went down. She had been called to Wills' office two days ago, with the notice that she was going to be transferred to the Behaviour Analysis Unit in Quantico. There were no 'why's' answered, and Abby's protests were waved away. When she asked if it could at least wait until they had solved the case, Wills only answer was a stark look and the order to pack her bags.

Ever since that conversation, a steady, constantly present feeling of infinitesimal fear running over her skin like water coming from the shower. She hated politics, she was strongly opinionated and didn't mind speaking her mind out loud. That's why she was never left in the dark, or at least why she was never before, left in the dark. She hated rules and protocol and made it her second job to break them. The fact that Wills had been so unwilling to share information with her, made her worry. It occupied her mind too much and she forgot to prepare herself for the force of resistance she was meeting here, with the 'new' team.

Hotch seemed to become aware of her presence suddenly, proving to Abby that he too was left in the dark about her transfer till yesterday. He halted in the entrance to the conference room and also, spotted four F.B.I. agents looking at them.

"Rossi, if you could just, help Scott settle in. I'll go talk to the team."

Rossi nodded and invitingly smiled at Abby as he stepped into the room. Whilst he began talking and explaining, Hotch left them behind him and descended the stairs. He could tell from the looks on their faces, they weren't happy about a newcomer in the team, especially not one of whom they haven't been informed properly. He raised his hands in defence as he approached the remarkable group of agents.

"I know. I'm sorry, I didn't know till yesterday afternoon."

Morgan interrupted him boldly. "So it's true. She's a new, completely unnecessary rookie, now part of the BAU."

"Yes."

Prentiss chuckled and tilted her head shortly, muttering under her breath.

"Her name is-" Again, he was interrupted, but this time it was the pretty blonde that opened her mouth.

"Abby Scott. We know."

"Then you should also know that she's not a rookie. She worked with DEA for two years, Scotland Yard for eight months, CIRG for a year, SCU for four. She's far from a rookie." Hotch told them sternly.

"Not to mention she's got an IQ of one-eighty and an excellent declarative and procedural memory." Reid finished the last part of his sentence a little less confident and he glanced at the group.

"She's only got an IQ of one-eighty, you're still the best Reid."

Morgan laughed at JJ's comment, not sure if it was to assure the man of his still marvellous genius-ness or as a joke. Reid, however, seemed a little lost in his thoughts and didn't really respond to the sounds around him.

"Look, guys." Hotch started again, causing four heads to turn and pay attention towards him as he sighed and sought for the right words. "This decision, it wasn't mine." Mentally, Hotch could kick himself. Though he didn't want the team to turn against him for making such a move without notifying them, he also didn't want them to turn against Scott. It wasn't that he was protecting her, he was protecting the integrity of the team. At least, that's what he wanted to believe.

"It came from above. I talked to Strauss, even she didn't know until yesterday. I had no say in it, and from what people tell me, what she's been telling me, Scott didn't either. We can't help this so we have to make the best of it and make it work."

He exchanged looks with each and every one of them, his eyes saying more than his words would. Then he continued. "JJ, you said we had a case?"

"Yeah."

As on cue, they all stood up, coffee mugs steaming with the still hot coffee in front of them as shields against whatever their eyes would see next. Silently, they walked towards the conference room.

Rossi and Scott were interrupted in their conversation about the John Wayne Gace Jr. case and how there was a possibility of two several profiles as the team walked in. Hotchner did the introductions.

"Everybody, this is Abby Scott, just transferred from Atlanta's Special Crime Unit. Scott, SSA Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss and Doctor Spencer Reid."

Abby shook everyone's hand as she noticed several different looks and felt several different handshakes. Morgan's handshake was strong and firm, telling Abby that he was confident and stood his ground. He looked at her with a mixture of coolness yet curiosity. Prentiss' handshake was also strong, but a little less firm, more friendly and feminine. She actually smiled slightly when she had eye contact with the newbie, but she could be being polite or just watching the way the cat jumps.

Reid's handshake was soft and a little weaker, but the generous smile on his face was apologetic and somewhat insecure. Abby, however, smiled widely when laying her eyes upon him. "I remember you." She said as she pointed her finger at him.

'Two-thousand-and-eight. We did the seminar about-"

"Robert Charles Browne."

Reid tucked his hands in his pockets, obviously feeling uneasy when seeing the looks of his colleague's.

"Well, it's good to see you again."

"Yeah, you too." He shrugged away the interested look Morgan gave him as he sat down, the others following his lead. Abby sat down across the door, overlooking the room, watching the windows. JJ took her position before the screen, the remote in her hand and addressed to them.

"This is Mary-Sue Poppins, seventeen. She was shot yesterday at a local high school in Columbus, Mississippi."

A picture of a smiling, fairly pretty blonde girl popped on the screen. Abby took in the details; hair colour, eye colour, clothing. The picture was a family photo; the victim stood next to her mother, father and two older brothers. She noticed the house, the way they were dressed, the order in which they stood.

"She was killed with a .338 from a probable long distance. There were strange markings on the bullet itself."

Another picture popped up on the screen, this time it was the still slightly bloody bullet that was recovered from Mary-Sue's body. Abby leant in forward to look closer at the bullet, noticing but not paying attention to Morgan, whom looked at her once she moved.

"The markings are consistent with two other murders, one in December last year and the other last week."

Two other pictures opened up on the screen, again of two blondes, both bright blue eyes. The pictures reappeared next to each other.

"He definitely has a type."

Abby eyes immediately flashed towards Morgan. "He?"

Morgan met her eyes and leant back in his chair, as if teaching a student. "Long Distance Serial Killers are almost always male."

"That doesn't mean female L.D.S.K. 's don't exist. You're just thinking that because the original profile says that."

"Have you ever encountered one?" Morgan shot back.

She snorted, knowing that this was just a good kick in the gut to prove that he was more experienced, older and obviously didn't like her presence. Just as JJ wanted to continue, she had already pressed a button on the remote in her hand and she faced the screen shortly, Abby spoke.

"Actually, I have. Twice."

Morgan, whom had turned his chair towards the chair again, turned it back to look at Abby, as pretty much everyone else looked at her.

"Nineteen-ninety-nine. Darcy S. McCullens shot her husband, his brother and her mother-in-law within two months from 700 yards in Atlanta. I actually lived across the street. Then again, in two-thousand-and-six, in San Francisco, Veronica Kleinn shot her ex-husband and two weeks later his new fiancé from 850 yards. A month later, she was lined up to shoot her ex-father-and-mother-in-law. She developed a taste for it and continued shooting random people for another four months. She killed seven more before we finally caught her." During her talk she hadn't look at him, but once she was done she sent him a glare – _pride and arrogance. I am the smartest in the room._

"Guys. The case please." Hotch said and demanded their attention.

Morgan was not liking the satisfied and cocky smug – though partially hidden - on Abby's face, but he listened to his supervisor and turned his attention back on JJ.

"The unsub" Rossi shortly glanced at Abby, "is speeding up. Last victim was only a week ago, his first five months before."

"Something must have set him off."

Hotchner agreed nodding with Prentiss. "Let them know we're coming, wheels up in thirty. You good to go Scott?"

"Yes sir. Just need to grab a go bag, wasn't expecting immediate action." Then she looked at JJ. "You got me another case file?"

"Sure."

She took the file and immediately started reading it, flipping pages and observing photos. The victims were all from different high schools, but they laid pretty close to each other. The Luxapilia creek ran between and around it had enough land to cross and choose a spot, seeing the area around the schools was mostly houses and streets. It wouldn't provide a good cover, the houses weren't high enough, but it gave him opportunity to shoot from above.

By the time Abby stood up, she noticed everybody had left, except for Reid. He stood in the doorway, whether he was watching her or waiting for her, she didn't know. She did know, however, the by the look on his face, something was troubling him.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He shifted his weight around on his feet, hands again stuffed in his pockets, lopsided smile. When Abby didn't make the impression to move any time soon and continued looking at him, the genius opened his mouth. "It's just, it's weird, working with someone of the same intelligence. Well, not weird, just… New."

Abby smiled at his words. "Are you afraid that I might be smarter than you? Take your place? Be of more value to the team? Because I can tell you, right here and now, I'm not smarter than you. Would I take your place? No. Definitely not. First of all because I'm not at all happy about this transfer, I want to go back to the SCU in Atlanta and secondly, if I am going to be here long-term, I'll create my own place, not take someone else's. Then, will I be of more value to the team? Well, I can't think of a word that could replace 'hell no' any better. I'm a bit of hand full, so I will definitely not be of more value than you."

She added a sweet smile before grabbing the case file and information she got. While passing the skinny man, she patted him on the shoulder and winked at him. She grabbed her backpack she had left just outside of the room and headed towards the exit. Halfway through, she turned, still walking as she took a bit of her apple she fished out of her black bag seconds earlier. "Hey Genius, can you tell Hotch I'll just grab some clothes and stuff? I'll meet you guys at the airport."

Reid nodded and waved his hand. Awkwardly, he dropped it again, watching the prominent figure walk through the room and leave. She never turned to see his reply. Spencer snorted softly, she _most definitely_ was a hand full.

* * *

"_Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land? All fear, none aid you, and few understand."  
_Alexander Pope


	3. Who you are

"_Ignorance never settles a question."  
_Benjamin Disraeli

* * *

10.24

Emily Prentiss irritatedly pushed some hair behind her ear for the fifth time as she waited for the rest of the team. A thundering, roaring sound made her look up at the sky and she watched the plane take off. It always held some mysterious magic, a plane that big and that heavy flying in the air and staying there. If everything worked properly, that is.

Just as she closed her jacket, trying to protect her body from the chilly breeze, she heard footsteps behind her. Abby Scott approached her, smoking a cigarette and was carrying a backpack over her shoulder. While the new team member approached Prentiss, she had the time to take in every detail. Black trousers, no dress pants, but not jeans either. That meant that she was expecting action. Yet, on top of those black trousers, she wore a light grey blouse and leather jacket and a black and white Iraqi scarf. The blouse suggested she was trying to look professional despite the pants, but the scarf just threw that idea right outside the window again. The shoes she wore, black, simple, but elegant Nikes, again pointed out that she was prepared for some serious action. Prentiss also noticed that she wore her gun lower than they did. Prentiss, for instance, wore it just above or on her hip. Scott wore it just below her hip.

Prentiss had been so concentrated with observing the other woman that she hadn't noticed Abby stood right in front of her, talking to her as smoke escaped her lips. "Prentiss?"

"What?" The other agent look startled and met Abby's face. "Sorry, I was a little. Never mind."

Abby smirked and took another pull from her cigarette.

"You know, smoking kills." She casually commented.

"So does that weapon on your hip." Abby replied with the same casual tone of voice.

"True."

"It's easier access." Abby suddenly said.

Prentiss frowned and pursed her lips for a split second – _force of habit_. "What's easier access?"

"I wear my gun just below my hip, more on the side of my leg so I can grab and aim faster, quicker and better."

"I was just-." Abby waved her excuses and or apologies away, smiling as she did it. She looked to her right to watch doctor Reid approach the two woman, accompanied by JJ and Rossi. Scott saw two figures a bit further away and she guessed that it were Hotch and Morgan.

"Everyone ready?" Absentminded, she nodded at JJ, still looking at the two figures. She felt Rossi's eyes burn against the side of her head, but she ignored it. Taking one last intoxicated breath, she tossed the cigarette away after putting it out and headed towards the plane, following the rest of the team.

* * *

10.25

"Morgan, before we get on that plane."

Hotchner pulled the other F.B.I. agent to a halt with a simple touch on his elbow. He glanced over his shoulder shortly, to make sure the others weren't waiting for them and then he turned to look at the confused face of Derek Morgan.

"I need you to keep an eye on Scott."

The dark man shifted his weight on the other foot, leaning back a little, still seeming confused, but also curious and slightly worried. "Keep an eye on her or profile her?"

"Just." Hotch was looking for the right words while looking at his colleague. "Just watch her."

"Why?"

"I need to know if she's up to it."

"What happened to her?" Morgan wanted to know, his voice deep and almost soothing. _Such a nice character trait._

Hotch sighed again, rubbing his forehead. Morgan had crossed his arms in protest.

"Nothing that I know of. It's just... The decision came from above, above Strauss. Whoever pulled the strings to make this happen, must be very powerful. I don't know why, but someone wanted her either on this team or out of Atlanta. Since Strauss didn't know till yesterday, I'm thinking it's the last."

"Hotch, if don't trust her or think she can't do it, why did you agree to it?"

"I had no other choice, Morgan."

The man nodded at his boss. "Okay. I'll keep an eye out on her."

"Thank you."

* * *

10.32

Abby walked around on the plane, just looking at simple things, taking everything in, 'where was this', 'where's that'. 'Where's the bathroom', 'where's the exit'. Sure, she had flown many times before, but every plane was different. The rest of the team was settling down and Abby felt a couple pairs of eyes on her as she looked around at the back of the plane.

"You okay Scott?" Morgan looked just around the chair in front of him, his dark, fierce and penetrating eyes meeting Abby's. She raised her eyebrows slightly. "Yeah, sure. Just, doing some recon."

"You flew a lot for the SCU?" Reid had positioned himself next to a window, opposite of Morgan.

"Not for the SCU, no." She answered honestly.

Doctor Reid's expression changed from curiosity to peril interest. Her answer had rung alarm bells in his head, an avoided answer, he would call it. She answered the question, but didn't really answer it at the same time. Reid's mind started working and before he knew it or before he could put a halt to it, it started racing.

'She avoided the answer. Why? Theory one. Is she hiding something? If she is, what is she hiding? SCU's work is known all over the world. Some things are classified to 'normal' people, but most FBI agents had access to their cases, to compare certain situations but also to study, to learn from. It's unlikely that she's hiding something that she's done with SCU then. Conclusion one. Theory two. She's afraid of flying, didn't concentrate enough when answering the question. Believe it or not, a humans mind has to concentrate when answering a question. Sometimes it seems like its automatic, but all sorts of subconscious processes occur beneath the surface. She's looking at exits, windows, location of the bathroom, where's everyone positioned. She flew a lot with SCU. So I'll have to alter my theory and say that at some point, something happened on a plane, recently. This would explain her behaviour. Conclusion two. Then, of course, there is theory three. She's looking at exits, windows, locations of the bathroom, everyone's position. She's prepared for the worst because she knows it can happen. Conclusion three. Conclusion two and three could have some roots in another conclusion. Which leads to conclusion four. We don't know her well enough to know that she's hiding, but there is definitely something, something horrifying. Something horrendous. Something big.'

The last two conclusions suited best hence Reid decided he had to keep those two in mind while brooding further.

Abby had seen Reid's expression. She had seen the slight mist before his eyes as she figured he started to do that one thing he was best at: thinking. She sighed secretly and inaudibly, she had not been in their presence for an hour and she was already starting to look suspicious. So she sat down opposite of Reid, the row of seats still untaken and settled down.

"Atlanta kept you busy. But, you know, friends in Washington, seminar in New York, nutty professor in London or whatever. It's just, this plane-"

"Not familiar." Reid finished her sentence and smiled kindly at the woman as she rested her eyes upon him. She returned his smile gently. But from the look of his genuine face, she could almost read his mind. Conclusion three and four have melted into one single, most likeable conclusion.

* * *

11.05

It was funny really, how she could watch them like that and suddenly have an insight of what of kind of people they are. She chose the chair that overlooked the plane itself, she could see the exit but it also enabled her to observe the rest of the people on board. Rossi and Prentiss had chosen a booth in which they sat opposite of each other, close to the window, yet still together. Morgan sat next to JJ whilst Reid was accompanied by Abby who, before she sat down, had been sitting alone. Hotch sat alone, remote, not with the team, but not without either.

During the four hour flight, much was talked about the case; theories and facts were discussed, pictures were imprinted on brains, rapports and notes were formed and read all over again. In-between, there was time and room for a quick chitchat about their personal lives. JJ talked about her son and the fact that his teeth had started to grow, keeping her and her boyfriend awake during most hours of the night. Morgan and Prentiss discussed a new book from a famous writer they both liked, a discussion to which Reid listened and smiled almost wickedly. At the point where Prentiss talked about a date that went absolutely wrong, Rossi started to mingle and a heated conversation broke loose. Watching from the side-line, Abby could clearly see the man versus woman contrast.

Little was asked from Abby. But she, on the other hand, had noticed that just like she distanced herself and kept her ass out of the casual conversations and discussions, Hotchner did the same. Sure, he looked and he listened, he sometimes smiled weakly and secretively, but he didn't mingle like Rossi had. Abby wouldn't describe him as a narcissist and she knew her arrival certainly gave Hotch a thing or two on his mind, but she wondered if this man really was such a shadow-y figure in the group, whilst when it was about the case, he clearly was the leader of this team.

Hotch was given the signal that they were going to land within half an hour and Abby felt the plane starting to descend. She looked outside the window and could see something that looked like land and water through the thick layer of grey clouds. The weather of Columbus in September definitely kept Abby from visiting this place if she didn't have to. She'd read the weather forecast before heading to the airport. It didn't look nice. Her dislike of the rain was one of the things she inherited from Georgia, where rain was not something you got used to there.

"Okay, Reid-" Despite the distance he created between him and his team, once Aaron Hotchner spoke, the team stopped talking and listened. It showed the respect they had for him, respect he probably, looking at the characters that sat before her, gained and earned from his team.

"I want you to set up a geographical map. I want to know who was shot where. We can estimate in what direction the shots came from, I want to be able to see something, find a pattern. Morgan and Scott, you two visit the crime scenes. Rossi, Prentiss and I will talk to the victim's families. JJ, I want you to gather everything they know, rapports, photos, thoughts, evidence, ballistics, blood work, notes, everything. I'll call Garcia to find out everything there is to know about our victims."

"We have to move fast." All eyes were on Rossi now, whom looked at the group with piercing eyes. "He's escalating. Two kills in one week. We have to move fast."

* * *

16.04

"Do you mind if quiz you?"

Morgan and Abby stood outside the Columbus Municipal School District and observed the small looking school. It only had one floor, yet the building looked brand new and somehow, they had created an environment that gave you the feeling that this was a safe place for your kids, neutral and clean. School was already out, a few last kids scattered around the playground, playing a game while their mothers stood a few feet away chatting.

Abby held the case file in her hands and looked at the crime scene photos of Mary-Sue Poppins. She looked over her file and could vaguely see the red stain on the concrete pavement underneath her feet. This was where it happened, this was the place where Mary-Sue took her last breath, blinked for the last time, probably smiled for the last time.

Whilst answering Morgan, she kept her eyes on the spot before looking around. "Quiz me?"

"Ask a few questions."

"Not at all."

"Okay." Morgan shifted his weight and turned towards her. He tried to make eye contact, but Abby was still looking at her surroundings, the school and the pictures in her hand. "I would be pretty upset if someone asked me to be quizzed if I know for sure I'm good at what I do."

Abby's eyes finally locked with Morgan's, his comment causing her to shift to guard-mode, alert and ready for any sort of attack. Her father always told her, one of the few wise things he ever taught her, that the best defence was a good offence. Dive in head first, drown and rescue yourself while others fall and perish.

"That didn't sound like a question. But I'll turn it into a question and answer. I'm the new kid. Twenty-seven so technically, in this field and expertise, I'll probably be the kid for a while. I don't mind. I'm sure agent Hotchner told you that my transfer came from someone above, one that sits on his arse all day when he's not playing golf or on the phone chatting with the governor. The circumstances are vague. The reason why isn't there. So, what the hell is the newbie doing here? No one knows. You can't get your hands on my personal file, so that doesn't tell you much about me either. So what do you really know about me? You know my name, you know my age, you know that why I came and why here is mysterious to everyone, including me. You know that you know not much of what I'm capable of, what I've done or what I can you. You know that there are things that you are not supposed to know. Adding all that up, I would be suspicious of me as well. No offense taken."

Morgan took the time to process what she had just said as he kept his eyes locked with hers. Abby noticed he tilted his back slightly, but wasn't sure if he did it to distance himself and literally put himself above her in some way, or that it was just something he did when processing information that had to be carefully stored in order to be remember and to keep processing that. It was, after all, what they did. Processing information over and over again.

"What can you tell me about the UnSub?"

"Probably male-"

"Why male?" Morgan cut her off.

"Female L.D.S.K.'s have, so far, only occurred when the murders were personal. Look at the two crazy women that killed their ex-husbands and his family. The three victims have no connection for as far as our all seeing eye can see. I think it's safe to say that the killer does not hold a connection to these girls, therefore he is probably a he." She explained.

"Then why these girls?" He questioned.

"There must be something that triggers him. His own daughter perhaps, or even the memory of his deceased daughter. His wife, maybe."

"Why from a long distance?"

"Not sure. Perhaps he likes killing from a view. People that kill from a long distance usually don't want the intimacy. Could be a reason. In the dead daughter theory, I wouldn't want to look a person in the eye that reminds me of my dead daughter before I kill her."

"What'd you teach?"

Abby was a little taken aback by the sudden change of subject and wasn't really sure if she liked that the direction Morgan now took, leading towards herself. "I did a few seminars on Psychology and Criminology."

"You like getting into people's mind."

"Not a question." She commented wise-ass.

"You're not turning it into a question neither." Morgan shot back at her with the same tone of voice.

"I worked with SCU. I'm with the BAU now. I think the answer is as clear as the fact that the sun rises east and sets west."

"Good point." Morgan stated flatly, his gaze still fixed on the woman before him.

"Not a question either." Abby sent him a smile that was rewards with a cautious smile. For now, it was good enough. They had only just met after all.

"So, what else do you see?"

She looked around once more and imprinted everything she saw onto her brain. She took her time. The time to think and calculate. To time to process that what she saw, to create theories and to test those theories. "Can you give me a hand?"

Abby motioned for Morgan to come closer, which he did. She positioned him on the spot where Mary-Sue had died and turned him with his back towards the school. Without any mention, she walked behind him and climbed onto his back.

"What are you doing?"

"Just stand still, don't move." After a few seconds in which Abby gazed at something only she could see, she jumped down from Morgan's back. "It's mostly low-rise buildings. I can see the lake from here, well, from up your back. With the right position, he could have shot her from over there. There aren't many other options than from over there."

"How can you tell?"

"Look, stand here."

She positioned him back where she had put him first. Abby was a few inches shorter, so when she put one arm over his shoulder to show him where to look, her chin barely come above his shoulders and she had to tip-toe in order to show him properly.

"If you look over there, you can see that you have a small stripe of empty area, right? We call that a window. Taking a shot, especially a shot from such distance, you'll have to have a very high opinion of your skills, it's extremely daring."

"So he's experienced. Confident."

"Confident in his shooting skills, yeah. I'm not sure if he's confident in real-life."

"Because he murders people from a distance."

"Exactly."

"Military experience?"

"Possibly. I mean, there are all kinds of things you have to consider and keep in mind, even with easy shots. Wind direction, wind speed, your position, the type of barrel you use, the type of bullet."

"You know a lot about this." His comment was careful, yet it raised the hairs in Abby's neck and caused the troops to reinforce the walls. "I knew someone." She responded cryptic.

Abby secretly thanked God that Morgan didn't press the matter any further. Instead, he walked around the scene, watched kids. They talked a little more about the case when they were approached by one of the women they saw standing and chatting with the other women minutes before.

"Excuse me."

She immediately started observing the older woman. She was short, about 5'4. Short red hair, dark brown glasses. A white t-shirt and simply blue dress pants. As Abby assumed, the woman introduced herself as the school's principal, Ruby Barkley.

"Derek Morgan, FBI. This is SSA Abby Scott."

"I heard the FBI was coming after Mary-Sue was shot. Second girl this week. Another girl was shot last year, they never caught the killer. You think it's the same person?"

"We're considering it, yes m'am."

"Poor Mary… She was a kind, bright girl."

"You knew her?"

"Oh yes, I taught her class, before I became a principal. Her little brother goes to this school. She was picking him up when it happened. She was exceptionally kind, to everyone. Volunteered twice a week for the after school program. Whenever there was something happening at this school, Mary would have been here. Her little brother, Brass, he adored her. And she adored him as well. It was a gift from God to see them together." A sad smile appeared on the principles face and she lowered her eyes.

"She sounds really nice." He said.

"She was. I've never heard anyone speak a bad word about that girl."

"So you can't think of anyone that might want to hurt her?"

"Oh no, not at all. As I said, she was exceptionally kind."

"Did she pick up her brother every day from school?" It was Abby now whom spoke. While Morgan interacted with the redheaded woman, Abby stood aside and listened. She let him do the talking and let him have the lead. But the question popped into her head when Ruby told them Mary-Sue was here to pick up her brother.

"Every single day. Their mother, Annabelle, Mary really takes after her by the way, she doesn't work but Mary insisted on doing it. Whenever something came up and she couldn't make it, Annabelle was always there, but usually it was Mary."

"What about her father?" Morgan took the lead again and Abby let him, calculating, thinking, making theories already.

"Robert. Good man as well. When Mary got sick, he worked almost twenty-four hours a day to pay the hospital bills and you never heard him complain. We don't see him here very often, but during festivals or basketball matches, he's always encouraging his son from the side-line."

"Mary's been sick?"

"Cancer. Nearly killed her as well. But, she fought and survived. Gift from God, I tell you."

"Thank you, misses Barkley."

"Oh, its miss, honey."

Abby couldn't help but to face away from the woman to hide her grin. The tall man next to her must have noticed because he too, quickly said goodbye and turned and walked away. Abby could hear the clatter of her heels as she walked away, but quickly glanced over her shoulder to make sure the woman couldn't hear them.

"She's into you, y'know."

Morgan put on his sunglasses as he started to walk towards their car. "Who wouldn't be?"

Smart and clever as she was, Abby chose to remain silent. She couldn't help, however, to let her eyes wander over his perfectly formed ass, as she followed his lead once again.

* * *

"_Trade your secrets and become who you are."  
_Frank Warren


	4. An unconquered army

"_And finally this gave it so much power that from its forehead a horn grew. One horn. It drew near to a virgin, white, gleaming - an was, inside the mirror and in her. "  
_Rainer Maria Rilke

* * *

19.00

Police stations somehow always felt the same, looked the same, smelled the same. Abby couldn't help but thinking it once she set a foot inside the small police department of Columbus, Mississippi. From the outside, the department looked brand new, as if someone from above had grabbed their old station and put a new one, a fresh one, back down. The grass was green, windows clean and reflecting the clouds in the sky and despite the gloomy weather, the building was radiating energy.

The ride towards the station had been quiet as Morgan and Abby listened to the radio. Abby never really knew how popular country music still was in these parts of America. It annoyed the hell out of her, she never quite understood the beauty of it and the sight from the window, didn't occupy her mind much as well. Most of the land was flat and simple. Low-rise houses, some Victorian mansions in the more richer parts of the small city and churches. Lots and lots of churches.

Abby never believed in God. Her mother did, but Abby never could. Ever since she had been little, she had seen more than any child of her age could wish for and having a certain knowledge, hence the thought of this man upstairs, having control over this world, quickly went out the window. Everything you did and everything that happened came back to yourself, you're responsible for your own life. She had seen it a lot, being in this line of work. You're always responsible for your own lives, your choices and your actions. It's pretty much how she liked it, in control of your own life. Perhaps it was a false dream she lived in, being in charge of your own game, but it was something Abby preferred to believe. It was better than thinking there was some idol up in heaven watching them.

The officers present at the station looked at Morgan and Abby somewhat suspicious. Morgan must have been used to those looks by now, but Abby was used to the idea that she was welcomed somewhere. Not everything had been plain sailing, but this kind of hostility was new to Abby. Once they were greeted by the ever-great scent of coffee, there was a soft buzz of computers working, printers printing, faxes delivering messages, phones ringing, combined with the light music of people's voices. Though this may be a rather small department, it was definitely alive.

Morgan quickly spotted the rest of the team and motioned for Abby to follow. The members had already assembled in a separate room. Reid and JJ had set up several whiteboards for the three victims and all the evidence. Prentiss held a stack of papers in her hand as she communicated with a woman on the phone that she held in her other hand. _You're on speaker_. Reid stood before his map and probably tried to link the three seemingly independent marks on his board. Hotch also stood before a board, studying the case of the first victim.

Rossi was the first to notice the two heading towards the room, shortly before Morgan opened the door and entered. Abby's eyes fell on the person she didn't recognize and took in his exterior. Tall, broad and well built, not extremely muscled, but he got his daily activity. Short, dark brown hair, professional. His face was square, strong, angular, his eyes hidden partly by the man's brows, but bright nonetheless.

"Morgan, Scott, this is sheriff John Smith."

Both Morgan and Abby shook the deputy's hand after Hotch introduced them to him. Abby lost her interest in the man once she looked at the boards and started studying them.

"Oh, Scott." Hotchner awoke her from the start of her thinking process and she turned around. "Meet Penelope Garcia, she's our technical analyst. You didn't have the time to meet her this morning, so you'll have to do it over the phone."

"Don't worry, I'm just as great over the phone as in real-life." Garcia said, her voice clear and vivid.

Abby smiled shortly. "It's nice to meet you Garcia."

"Likewise Scott. So, eternal loved ones, what else?"

"Thanks Garcia, that would be it."

"I know you'll call me later this morning, so goodbye for now. Over and out."

A small beep concluded that the call had ended. Hotchner took the lead, she could tell by the way he positioned himself, overlooking the group, the way he placed his feet, firm and toes points towards the others. He had a rather stern look on his face, one Abby hadn't met yet. When she met Hotch earlier this morning, she found out quickly that this man didn't smile a lot, his seriousness expressed on his face, but the way his brows were knitted together now told her this was a very serious, hard-working man that did not like to be messed with. In her mind, Abby signed her testimony and prayed to God that Miles knew he would still not be allowed to sell that odd painting when she was dead.

"According to Reid's geographical profile, the Luxipila Lake is a central part in this case. Morgan, Scott, what have you found out from the crime scenes?"

"It's open, plain. Enough space for someone to pick a target from a long distance. This guy definitely has military experience." Morgan sat down and leant back against the chair.

"Sniper?" Rossi asked, an underlying, unidentified, tone in his voice. Cautious. Careful. Alert. Anxiousness. What was it?

Abby nodded her head and caught Morgan's glare. He gave her a short nod as if inviting her to answer, letting her take over. "Could be, but not necessarily. From the lake, there is enough open land to shoot from. This guy would know how to handle weapons, would know how to use a sniper rifle so it's most likely. But he could also have practiced at a range or out in the wilderness. We'll have to compare weather reports to really answer that question."

"How come?" Prentiss held a curious yet questioning mien on her face, perhaps wondering if that information would be correct or perhaps just wanting to know what made Abby come to that conclusion.

"Today was a clouded day, but there wasn't any wind. That makes it easier for someone that hasn't been properly trained as a sniper. If the other days of the murders were alike, little to no wind, no rain, some sun, it would make it easier. If one of the days was windy and or rainy, we're dealing with a professional sniper." Abby explained.

"If we have those weather reports, perhaps we could find a more exact point of where the shots came from. Since it's from such a distance, wind could have altered the direction of the bullet. Only a few millimetres and his location could be within a mile. So far, I can't really pinpoint his location." Reid added.

"According to the ballistic reports and the coroner's report, the bullet entered with a slight upward lift." It was JJ whom spoke as she studiously watching the group.

"That means he didn't shoot from anything higher than the victim's heights." Prentiss eyes went over the board as if she could find something that could help define what and how.

"So he must have been sitting in something. A car perhaps?" Deputy Smith suggested.

"Military?" Rossi joined in and Abby nodded at him.

"Most likely."

"Reid, you're on those weather reports."

There he was again, the shade that crawled between rooms, a transparent ghost most of the time, suddenly vividly visible. Abby dared to glance in the direction of Agent Hotchner and her eyes made contact with his. She quickly broke away without looking suspicious. While doing so, she noticed the board behind him. Abby cocked her head to the right as she saw a picture of the first victim, Jenny Sullivan. Hotch followed her gaze as he noticed the shields lifting up from before Abby's eyes. They became clear and bright and he practically could see her thinking. She didn't reply when he asked her what was wrong, but slowly made her way to the whiteboard.

"This the bullet that was retrieved from the first victim?"

"Yes. Why?" Hotch answered.

"It's handmade." She had taken the plastic evidence bag and laid the bullet in her hand.

"How can you tell?" Prentiss stepped forward as the Deputy spoke and stood next to Abby to look at the bullet. Abby turned to the group and took a step backwards.

"It's an altered hollow-point bullet. They're not a standard issue. Hollow-point bullets can improve accuracy by shifting the center of gravity of the bullet rearwards. I bet that if I would open this bullet, there's more weight added to the bottom of the bullet, causing an even higher upward lift. This wasn't manufactured. Someone with a great knowledge of bullets made these. Plus, there are distinctive markings. We talked about it on the plane, how they must have been made by the barrel? You don't get these from any ordinary sniper rifle. I'm guessing it's his signature."

"Couldn't they've been made by some sort of metal inside the barrel?" JJ had been quietly sitting on a chair in the corner, a stack of case files next to her on the table. The coffee mug she had recently brought to her lips placed next to it, the symbol of Columbus' police department pointed towards the room.

"No. No, definitely. A scratch like this would completely change the direction of the bullet if it had been made by the gun itself."

"So we're dealing with a specialist. A trained, professional sniper rifle." Hotchner stated grim, his eyes still fixed on the bullet.

"'Fraid so." Abby shrugged and delicately looked around the room.

"That works in our advantage." The team looked at Morgan. "How many of trained, professional snipers could there be in this town?"

"That's one person out of twenty-six-thousand." Reid said matter-of-factly. As he reached for his phone to call Garcia, Morgan's already rang. Morgan looked at the display and picked up.

"Baby-girl, you got everybody."

"I always love a great audience. Listen up my doves, the second victim, Annabeth Collins, she had a criminal record."

"For what?" The apparition spoke again.

"Apparently, she broke into someone's house when she was fourteen and stole jewellery worth four grand. She explained to the judge that it had been her sisters birthday and she wanted to give her something nice. Here's the catch, the jewellery she stole belonged to the late misses Wilkins, she died in nineteen-ninety-four. Her only son, he was rather pissed about it."

"Does he have a record?" Sheriff Smith asked.

"Actually, he does. Armed robbery in a liquor store, assaulting a police officer, drunk driving."

"That's Joey Wilkins." All eyes were now turned to the sheriff. "We know him. I'm missing a tooth because of him. And guess what? He served in the military before he was dishonourably discharged."

"I wanted to say that." The tech pouted.

"Garcia, do you have an address?" Morgan asked, holding the phone closer to his mouth.

"Don't need to." All heads turned again. "We picked him up twenty minutes ago. He was harassing his neighbour. He's sleeping off his rush as we speak." Smith explained.

"All right, we'll talk to him tomorrow. Good work everybody." Hotch placed the file he had been holding on the table before him.

It was 21.44. They were directed towards their motel room to get some rest, some sleep for the lucky ones, before starting a brand new day.

* * *

08.40

"Joey. That's quite a record you got there."

Rossi sat opposite of a slender man, ducked inwards as if he was going to be hit anytime soon. Joey Wilkins was about thirty-eight and obviously threw his live in the gutter a long time ago. His eyes were blurry, as if he had trouble concentrating. There was dirt in his beard, the right side held a small, black gap of scorched hair. He wore a dirty white, sleeveless shirt, grease, dirt and grass stains all over it, and something that looked like tomato sauce, just like his old, faded jeans. He had thrown his shoes at the neighbour's window and Abby could see the length of his toenails and the black grime underneath them.

Hotchner had asked Abby to join him in the room behind the blinded glass. Together, they stood silently watching as Rossi interviewed Joey.

"I've made some mistakes."

"Is that what they are?" Rossi's voice was ardent and superior. He was sitting up straight, official, and knew exactly how to play Wilkins.

"Yes, of course they are! I'm still, I'm still a little mixed up over my mother's death, you see?"

Suddenly, the man looked up at Rossi, a hopeful expression on his face. His lips started to form some sort of grimace and she could see his filthy teeth and the gaps between some of them. "Are you looking into her death?"

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

"We're here because three girls got killed. Murdered." Rossi calmly presented the photos to Wilkins as he placed them before him.

"That's a sad story, officer, real sad story." Wilkins nervously ran his hand over his cheek, his eyes darted all over the table but he refused to look at the pictures.

"Did you know them?"

"I know her, she stole from my mother, that bitch! I'll kill her if I ever see her again." As Joey identified Annabeth Collins, he tapped on the picture several times, bending his head away, but his eyes were suddenly fixed on her before he glanced up at Rossi.

"She's dead."

"She is?"

"She's one of the three girls that got murdered."

Abby had been taking in Joey Wilkins' expressions, his body language, the way he spoke, the words he used. This was clearly not their man. "Hotch. This is not our guy."

"Explain to me why."

She looked over her shoulder, eyeing him up and down once she met his eyes. This whole 'sizing her up' thing was getting annoying. Therefore, she let out an exaggerated sigh and turned back to the glass.

"Just look at him. This guy doesn't know discipline. The man we're looking for has to have that. You'll have to have patience, wait for the right, perfect moment. I don't think this guy has the patience to wait until his hotdog is warmed-up in the microwave."

"Good point. But perhaps he could tell us something about Jenny Sullivan."

"While we're wasting our time, you mean? I don't think this man is in his right mind."

"We look into every possible lead."

"Right." Abby replied sarcastically.

At that point, tension was high between the two characters. Hotch was annoyed that she had challenged him. Abby was annoyed he pushed her into all sorts of directions. She was used to being the alpha-leader, despite not being a team leader. Her intelligence was a great asset to the team, one that they relied on and trusted. Would their guts tell them differently, they would stick to it. But this was just chasing shadows.

Suddenly, the door was opened and Jennifer's face appeared from behind the corner. She looked startled and shocked. "He shot another girl."

Within a second, Hotch and Abby were on the move. While passing the glass, Hotch tapped on it, letting Rossi know something happened. He exited the room first and immediately took charge. The ghost took its form again.

* * *

09.00

She was pretty, even in death. Her blonde hair loosely around her head like a spider's web. Her eyes closed as if she was expecting it. Her skin was plain white, ghostly, but beautiful. She radiated a certain feeling of peace and beauty, almost calmness. There was only a small hole, just above her right temple, some blood running down into her hair. Other than that, you would think she was sleeping. Abby knew, however, that if you would turn her head, half of it would be missing. Hollow-point bullets. Destructive. Scattered over a few feet laid the rest of her head, pieces of white bone mixed with a grey mass that had once made Lisa McCallister exist.

Abby looked at her. She stood hovering over the dead girl's body and looked at her. The scent of death was everywhere and she took it all in. For minutes, she just stood there and stared at the body.

"You okay?" Spencer Reid approached her softly and soothingly. His hands were tucked in his pockets, gun on his waist, badge shimmering next to it. Abby nodded but didn't take her eyes of the body. She crooked her head to the side and watched the girls face.

Reid stood watching her silently, as Abby observed the girl. She was so lost in her thoughts she didn't feel his eyes on her, nor did she feel Morgan's eyes on her from a distance, watching her like a lion watched his prey. "May I ask what you're doing?"

Abby broke her eyes from the body and looked at Reid, somewhat confused. She regained her composure and took a few feet away from the body. "I'm looking at her."

"Why?"

"Because I want to know why he shot her and not someone else."

"Is it helping?"

"A little."

Reid smiled gently. "You always do that? Looking at a victim like that?"

"Usually. When there is a victim."

"You dealt with a lot of cases where there was no victim?"

"We've had our share in them. Abductions. Missing persons never found. Hostage situations. Things like that."

There it was. That feeling. It crept over her back like a rat that crawled its way up. Shivers ran up and down her spine, she felt cut wide open and exposed. Her heartbeat started beating faster, adrenaline started rushing through her veins, all senses on high alert. A peril threat forcing its way into her shields. Sounds became mute, the world faded away before her eyes. She turned around and looked to find the one watching her. She could feel him, hear his heartbeat, feel his skin brush against hers. He was here. She could feel it, she knew it.

"Abby? You okay?" Reid asked slightly worried, his eyes flashing over her face.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. What's next?"

"We're going back to the police station, talk about the profile and release it."

"Okay."

Still taken aback, she looked around. He was breathing down her neck, chasing her like her own shadow did. She could see him, he was right there, just out of reach. Sooner or later, she would be able to touch him. Sooner or later, he would touch her. There was no 'if', only 'when'.

* * *

10.30

"The UnSub is a white male, approximately forty to forty-five years of age. He's single and been alone for quite a while. No relatives in the area, only a handful of friends. He drives a truck or some sort of terrain vehicle. It wouldn't be out of the ordinary, it would blend in, allowing him to go wherever he wants to." Hotch started, addressing roundabout fifteen police officers, the sheriff and the deputy. "He has a military background. In the army he would have been a sniper and he would have been to war. Something might have happened over there, giving him some sort of trauma that changed him dramatically." Hotch started as he addressed the group of law enforcement.

"You wouldn't notice him much. He's a quiet, very disciplined man. Neat, organized. Shy and reluctant towards strangers, but strongly opinionated and against the war in Iraq towards people that he knows." Rossi continued, his hands moving along as he spoke.

"Something must have triggered him. His victims were about the same age, all girls, blonde. They could represent his daughter or a loved one that died. He has a type, but getting up too close would make it too personal, it would literally hit too close to home. He wants to kill but he doesn't want to get confronted by the mess it would leave. That's why he shoots from a distance." Prentiss explained slowly.

"The fact that he has killed three victims within ten days means he's starting to lose control. And there is a good possibility that he suffers from PTSD, combined with the loss of a woman in his life." As Morgan spoke, he crossed his arms. The police officers had gathered around in the main area of the police department. Some held notebooks, others only listened intensively. As the team gave the profile to the officers, JJ stood outside and released the profile to the press.

"From the angle of the shots, we can confirm that the bullet came from an upward angle. This would either mean the UnSub is really short, that he was sitting in some sort of truck or a pickup. All shots have been fired from the Luxipila lake which is easily accessible by a truck or pickup, but also on foot."

"He's experienced. So be careful." With a nod, Hotchner showed the audience that that was it and that they should get back to work, catch this guy. It was rather amazing that such a small, seemingly meaningless nod meant so much. As if on cue, they stood up, talked to each other and went to work. Abby did the same and she returned to the room.

When the team entered a couple of minutes later, joined by JJ, she stood before the whiteboard of the second victim, Annabeth Collins. Occasionally, she glanced over at the other boards, mostly at the pictures of the fourth crime scene. She barely heard them enter, she was completely caught up in her own world. Vaguely, she heard Rossi and Hotch discuss the possibility that the UnSub might start shooting once he knew they were on to him. There was something, something she couldn't put her finger on. It lay before her, stretched out and welcoming, but she couldn't grasp it. It was bugging her, like a mosquito you could hear but not see, let alone smash it between your hands. Absentmindedly, she scratched her chin and looked once more.

* * *

21.30

Her hotel room was nice and simple. Clean and cheap. Columbus obviously didn't have five-stars hotels, but this one didn't even have two. However, it was the best around town and closest to the station. If the team had to move, they could move quickly.

The flower pattern on the curtains reminded her of the pillows on the couch of her grandmother. Dirty, old English green with light pink and red roses. The hanging fabric held an unusually yellow-ish glow over itself and she wondered for a second how long they must have hung in this room. They clashed with the odd brown-patina, green-gold, faux wood design wallpaper. The flowers on the small table next to the door were made of plastic and casted a downward presence throughout the room. The dark blue carpet underneath her shoes made funny noises at certain places, and there were unidentified stains that Abby rather didn't think about.

Quickly checking the bathroom (Also containing a yellow-ish glow through the small room, certain places darker or faded from intensive usage), she turned on the lamp on the night stand and positioned herself in the comfortable chair in the corner. From her bag, she took her notes and some files she had taken from the sheriff's department.

Some people said it gave her an advantage, going through the case all night, thinking, creating theories and altering those theories. As if it somehow gave her a head start, made her look good. Truth was, she was so good because she really was that good. She was born to crawl underneath killer's skin and get into psycho's minds, it was one of the few things she was actually good at. But what really made her that good, laid deeper into her mind, her soul. It wouldn't be visible to the common, human eye. She could think like a killer, feel like him, compare and compose herself to such a person. Almost becoming one.

She called it 'catching the late night train', as if there was a train on which only those with a wrong mind could get onto. The train of the doomed and disturbed souls that lingered like shadows did at dawn, clinging onto that last object that would provide them their cover. It was a talent and a gift as much it was a curse and her death certificate. Someday, she would stay onto the train for too long, linger too long like the shadows and disguised devils did. It wouldn't make her turn her into one, it would wear her down to the point she would physically break down. By then, her mind would have long passed its own breaking point.

Still, with that ignored cautious warning, she would go on and catch that train. Not because she wanted to, but because she could and if she looked deep down into the maze of her mind, because she was drawn to it.

For hours she studied the case, went through all the files. Sometimes the silence reached her ears and sounded like a distant drum, almost hurting her ears. Sometimes, she could hear the clock ticking and the rustling sound of moving papers cutting into her mind. This was who she was. It defined her. It was her.

* * *

08.30

"It is personal."

Perhaps she should have picked a better time, as her timing sucked. Prentiss halted in the middle of her actions to bring a cup of coffee to her lips. JJ was talking to the sheriff, Rossi stood next to Hotch, again, discussing the case. Reid was staring at the whiteboards and Morgan sat in a chair at the table, going through the profile, also holding a cup of coffee that was supposed to have touched his lips.

"Excuse me?" Rossi turned towards Abby, whom stood with her back to the group and looked at a smiling picture of Lisa McCallister.

"Are we on the same case here?"

She didn't like his tone. It was patronizing and almost humiliating. She bit her tongue. "If all your four victims would be blond, blue-eyed girls shot from a long distance, then yeah, we are."

Her words triggered an action in Reid's brain. He looked at her shortly before taking a step back and watching the pictures from a distance.

"He kills from a long distance. There's no intimacy. It's not personal." Prentiss repeated.

"He kills the same girl over and over again." Abby replied.

"Doesn't make it personal, it means he has a preference. He can't take anything from the victims."

Abby opened her mouth to speak, but Hotch beat her to it. "Rossi's right Scott, it can't be personal, he can't take anything from the victims. Besides, it doesn't match the profile."

Reid looked at Abby with a vague expression on his face, but she could tell that he was on the same track. Something was burning under their feet, aching to be found and to be touched. It wanted to be found, so it could be released. Abby felt like she had been put into restrains and she was fighting against them. Something wanted to get out. She had the key, she just couldn't find the lock. There was something in what Rossi said, a shot of electricity pulsed through her as he spoke those words. But what words and what did they mean?

"Morgan, ask Garcia if she found more people with a military background in Columbus." Hotch turned away from Abby and focussed on the handsome agent.

"He could also have accessed the city via the lake. We know he owns a truck." JJ commented.

"I'll ask her to widen the search." Morgan quickly got a hold of Garcia and they started their usual flirting. At first, Abby had found it awkward how the two of them talked to each other. After hearing it for the second time, it became as normal as coffee in the morning.

The conversation between Garcia and the team was blurry. Abby couldn't focus, she could feel the monster breeze past her fingertips. She was so close. What was it? What was she missing? The devil was dancing before her eyes and she still couldn't see his horns. What was it? What was it?

"_He kills from a long distance. There's no intimacy. It's not personal. He can't take anything from the victims."_

"It's not about intimacy."

Even Garcia stopped talking in the middle of her sentence. All eyes were on Abby and she could feel them, poking her with a hot stick, burning holes into her brain. She could almost hear Hotch's annoyance and Rossi's irritation. She knew she was pushing them, but she caught the devil by its tail.

"Scott-"

"It isn't about intimacy. He's killing from such a distance to make sure there is no intimacy." Abby started talking faster. This was it, she found it. She got excited and she knew they could read it off her face.

"They're all alike." Reid suddenly stated softly, almost too soft.

Choo-choo, heads up! The train has reached its final destination. Reid was right behind her, only a compartment away.

"What if he isn't taking from the victims, but from the victim's parents?" Abby was now talking to and with Reid, the others ignored, left behind on the platform. They were aboard the train, they were reaching the final destination.

"Garcia, check all fathers that have recently lost custody of their daughters." Reid's voice was anxious, excited. He knew too, they were on to him.

"Got him, Joseph Waters, age forty-six. Wow. He served in the Gulf War as a sniper. He was dishonourably discharged for assaulting a sergeant after refusing an order. He lost guardianship, custody and visiting rights of his seventeen year old daughter December tenth, after what seems like a physical fight with the mother. She didn't press charges, but Social Services and the judge decided to even put out a restraining order ."

"That's two days before the first murder." Rossi sounded almost surprised.

"That's his stressor." Morgan glanced at Hotch, whom returned his sober stare. Then, Hotch tuned back in reality. "Garcia, you got an address?"

"Warpath road, number twelve."

The team sprang into action, blood started to run faster, adrenaline was created and flushed through bodies, minds started racing and Hotchner must have suddenly thought about his discussion with Rossi. If they find him, would he open fire like a madman? How high was the possibility of Waters suffering from PTSD? Garcia didn't mention anything, it could be possible that no one even really knew what was going on with the man as he locked himself up in his house, marching around, and profoundly believing the enemy was after him.

The knock on the door sounded like a church bell in a large, empty room. Abby could feel the sound waves crash into her body. Everybody stopped moving and looked at the door. The sheriff entered and looked sincere. This wasn't good.

* * *

_"Skill and confidence are an unconquered army."  
_George Herbert


	5. The hour of death

"_We say that the hour of death cannot be forecast, but when we say this we imagine that hour as placed in an obscure and distant future. It never occurs to us that it has any connection with the day already begun or that death could arrive this same afternoon, this afternoon which is so certain and which has every hour filled in advance."  
_Marcel Proust

* * *

09.30

Abby felt as if the world had been put in slow motion. She followed Prentiss out of the room, the sheriff's expression still startled and shocked. His pupils huge as his eyes. His hands placed on his hips but restless and uncomfortable. Where did you leave them again in a situation like this?

Rossi wore the same look on his face as Abby once they saw the girl. He shortly looked at her and Abby returned his unspoken words. She wasn't sure if he looked at her in a series of thoughts that lead him to the fact that she had been right, or in his astounded state of mind that realised there was something about her, something wrong, that she knew what she knew. There was something deeper inside of her.

Abby blinked several times, she saw Lisa McCallister. Mary-Sue Poppins. Annabeth Collins. Jenny Sullivan. She had the same blue eyes, the pale skin, the radiating energy, the blond hair only shorter. There was a small birthmark above the left corner of her lips. She wore a navy blue dress with a short-sleeved jacket put around her shoulders. Her mother sat next to her, a protective arm resting around her daughter's torso.

"Kira and Yulie, this is Agent Hotchner. He's in charge of the investigation." Deputy Smith introduced them. Kira Johnson stood up the moment they were approached. Her daughter did the same, half hiding behind the body of her mother.

"Agent Hotchner, this is Joseph Waters' ex-wife, and their daughter."

"We saw the woman on the television, talking about that profile of yours. I recognized Joe immediately. Is he okay?" Kira Johnson's voice was soothing and delicate. Kind. But her eyes were worried and filled with concern and restless nights.

"Miss-.."

"Johnson."

"Miss Johnson, we believe that your ex-husband has killed three girls that look like your daughter. What can you tell us about him?" Hotch handled her carefully, knowing all too well that she held crucial information they needed to know, but they needed to approach the matter mindful and conscientious.

"He's not a bad man, honestly. It's just-. We were high school sweethearts. We fell in love the moment we laid eyes on each other. After he returned from the war.." Her voice faltered.

"Please, go on."

"He came back differently. He was quiet, solemn, sober. Sat in his room for days, always watching the world in darkness. He spooked me. Then he started drinking and laid his hands on me a couple of times. It was then that I left him and I took Yulie with me. We fought for custody for a year. Last year, the judge finally appointed her to me and ordered Joe to stay away from her. He took it really hard. But, I had to, you know? I couldn't drop her off , not knowing whether I was going to pick her up again after a couple of days. Several times, she called me up that he was drunk and screaming and marching around the house with his gun."

"Did he have any mood swings? Where there periods of time when he didn't act hostile?" Hotch asked kindly.

"It took me seven years to realize that those moods always came back."

"We're not judging you, ma'am." He assured her with a kind voice.

"There were episodes in which he would wake me up saying we had to go, that the enemy was coming. He hid Yulie in the woods for a week when she was five. Once he snaps out of it, he is okay. But the longer it went on, the less I saw of the Joseph I married."

"Thank you, Miss Johnson." Hotchner intended to leave and head towards Warpath road to stop this killer. But a hand on his arm stopped him and he turned.

"Are you going to kill my father?" Yulie had remained silent, but now that she spoke, her voice was soft and angel-like, kind to ones ears. There was something fragile in it, but also fear and a slight trace of hope.

"We want to help your father, Yulie."

"He hurt my mother. Kill him if you get the chance. Don't let him hurt you too."

There was nothing more terrifying than an angel morphing into the devil. Abby could see the horns grow out of her head, the red tail behind her back and a forked tongue from between her teeth. She literally transformed before their eyes. Whatever Joseph Waters had done to his daughter, it left her so hostile towards him that she painted the red spot on his forehead with a marker herself.

Hotch was just as taken aback as the rest of the team and he shortly looked at Rossi. "Did he hurt you too?"

There she went again. She stepped back, behind her mother whom protectively wrapped her arms around the skinny shoulders. Both of them remained silent and Hotch decided it was time for some action. Before he would strike again.

* * *

10.05

Abby sat in the car with Reid and Morgan, sirens blasting, flashing lights desperately trying to light their way in red and blue colours. Abby was so used to this sound, this feeling, it almost felt like a lullaby to her. It was like rocking on the waves, comfortable, familiar, soothing. She had heard this sound so often, every time she heard it, it was like she was greeted by an old, long lost friend.

Morgan was driving, expertly dodging other cars and turning corners with screeching tires, without hitting the breaks, without flipping the car over. Reid sat in the back seat and he talked to Hotch on the phone.

"Hotch, this guy has really lost it. Possible PTSD, shell shock, tunnel vision, you name it. He's disconnected from the world, he won't understand what's happening when we arrive."

There was a short silence as Reid intensively listened to his supervisor on the other side of the line.

"Yeah. I think we should consider him dangerous. But I also think that we should treat him carefully. It doesn't necessarily have to go down badly."

After a few more words from Hotch, Reid hung up. Morgan instantly sought contact through the rear view mirror. "What'd Hotch say?"

"Approach with caution."

"Right."

They turned another corner and approached a single house, surrounded by dry grass and dead trees. The whole concept looked sad and dreadful to Abby. She couldn't help but thinking that if your environment looked like this, it's not a surprise that you don't know how to live anymore.

The moment Morgan stopped the car, Abby opened the door and stepped out. Her legs found steadiness on solid ground, not even shaking for a second. Adrenaline started rushing through her body, her heart beating faster and her body was embracing itself for some sort of impact. She could feel it, burning and scratching into her skin.

She could hear two other cars slip to a halt on her left (police cars following close behind) as she studied the miserable, disheartened house in front of her. This was it. This was the moment. Abby felt it on her skin, like little bugs crawling all over her body, tickling her senses.

The shot was hollow and echoed throughout the dead surroundings. The impact was metallic and broken as it sounded like a pen hitting a soda can. Abby hid behind the car as she heard the engine hiss – the bullet must have hit the radiator. Morgan had yelled to get down and he and Reid shortly joined Abby on the side of the car after the first bullet seized through the air, thankfully missing. No doubt Morgan had been the target.

"Everybody okay?"

Hotchner watched them from behind the car parked behind Morgan's. His weapon was drawn, the barrel pointed downwards, deadly and in use. Carefully, he peeked over the hood of the car to see the house and perhaps see where the shot came from. Abby did the same, she leant on her hands, the right holding her Glock, as she looked around the bumper of the car.

She counted four windows, one on the lower level, two on the first floor and one on the attic. She measured the house up and figured that it didn't make much difference whether you barricaded yourself in the attic or on the ground floor. Still, the structure of the house would give Waters a more secure feeling when he was on the top floor. Abby heard Morgan say to Hotch that they had to do something. She couldn't agree more. But at this moment, it was too dangerous for them to be moving, not until they located the shooter's position. Suddenly, there was a small flash of light in the far away corner of the right window on the first floor.

"He's on the first floor, right window, lower right corner." She said loudly.

"You sure?" Morgan asked her.

"Yeah. I saw a flash."

"A flash?"

Abby looked over her shoulder at Prentiss. Her expression was almost blank, but she looked away quickly; she had to play nice on her first week. "Yeah. From his scope."

"Okay, we have to move." Hotch pressed his back against the car as he looked around, finding a way to regroup and move forward from that point. The sound of a window being opened made all heads turn towards the house again.

The UnSub, Joseph Waters, half hung out of his window, his sniper rifle in his left hand, the other he held onto the window frame. He was yelling, making frantic gestures and nearly fell out of the window.

"What's he saying?" Morgan took off his sunglasses to get a better look as he dared to raise himself a little above the car's window.

"Sounds like some sort of Arabic." Reid commented.

"Israeli. He's speaking Israeli." Prentiss corrected the young genius.

"Can you make out what he's saying?" Hotch directed the troops whilst constantly glancing over the hood of the car to see what was going on.

Abby leant out from her cover again and watched the man still hanging from his first floor window as Prentiss spoke. "Not really. Besides the fact that it are multiple dialects thrown together, I'd say he's pretty drunk. Sounds like 'Away', but I don't know if he means 'go away' or 'stay away'."

"Does that make a difference?" Rossi looked at Prentiss from behind the other car. Abby stepped in and leant away from the car so she could look past Morgan and meet Rossi's eyes.

"If he's saying 'Go away', that means he thinks we're the enemy. In other words, 'go away or I'll shoot you.' Now, if he's saying 'stay away', that could mean he thinks were friendly's and he just wants to protect us."

"We need a distraction. Sheriff, can you go around the house and turn his attention away from here. We'll go around the house, Morgan, you and Scott take the back, Prentiss, Rossi and I will take the front. Reid, you stay here to make sure he doesn't move back into his old position." It was like a chess play and Hotch was on the move.

"Got it. Give me two minutes." The sheriff assembled six of his men and carefully they got into their respective cars. Anxiously, Abby peered around the car again to see if she could see anything. It had been quiet for a couple of minutes and it luckily stayed that way when the sheriff and his men left to go around the house.

She heard footsteps behind her, soft soles grinding against lose, dry sand, some pebbles glanced off against each other. Followed shortly after that, she felt Morgan's hand on her shoulder. "What do you see?"

"He's quiet. Not moving."

"Okay, we'll have to wait till he settles down on the other side." Hotch's voice told her over the radio, shortly followed by Reid's. "He's on the move."

"Okay, let's go." Hotchner took the lead, the man appearing from the fog of his presence, leader of men. The sound of shots being fired at the other side of the house made them hesitate, but after a split second the whole team was on the move. Except for Reid, who maintained his position and kept a close eye on the house.

She was on Morgan's heels as he had taken the lead. Her weapon down, pointing at the ground, keeping a close eye on the house. The shots kept filling up the silence, cutting through the tension like a knife through butter. Time seemed to pass by faster, ticking away like those seconds didn't mean anything. Like they didn't draw a line between life and death. Hotch's voice was in her ear, letting them know that they reached the front door, seconds before Morgan and Scott stepped on the porch and each took a side of the backdoor. As they entered, Scott was welcomed by a thick, dusty, musky wall of air, almost suffocating her. Joseph Waters hadn't left his house apart from his killing trips and the inside of his house probably hadn't seen sunlight in a long time.

All the furniture was covered in a layer of dust, she could see some faded footsteps, Morgan's footprints standing out next to them. The dirty curtains were closed, stained glasses and beer bottles everywhere. Silently, but effectively and rapid, they cleared the ground floor. Morgan reached the stairs first, followed close behind by Scott. Carefully, they climbed up the stairs, old wood cracking under their weight. Hotch, Prentiss and Rossi approached them from behind and Abby shortly looked at them. As they reached the first floor, Morgan took cover in one of the open rooms. Abby took her position opposite of the door where the sounds of gunshots came from, kneeling down partly behind the railing of the stairs. Hotchner and Rossi slowly walked towards the half open door.

"Mister Waters? This is the FBI." Hotch's words were shadowed by Joseph Waters reacting to the sound. Noise came from the room as Waters footsteps led him away from the window, his back bumping into the wall behind him harder than intended.

"Mister Waters? Just put the gun down, sir." Rossi now took over and he and Hotch cautiously stepped forward. Prentiss backed them up, half hiding behind the second corner.

"Guys, I'm looking at the blueprints of the house, the room Waters is in, has another entrance to the south."

"Copy Reid."

Morgan signalled to Prentiss to maintain her cover and motioned for Abby to move along the corridor. She turned around the corner, gun at the ready and peered around the first doorpost she reached on the right. She could see a frightened, sloppy man standing with his back against the wall, facing towards the sound of Rossi's voice as he kept talking to him. Abby pointed her gun at the UnSub, right elbow slightly bended outwards, left arm closer to her body.

"We've got a visual." Abby informed them through the radio-piece attached to her vest.

"Keep your position." Hotch replied.

Abby leant against the left wall, enabling a better view on the man. It was then that she noticed he was wearing his uniform, or at least something that was once his uniform. It was covered in grass stains and mud, at some parts the army brown colour had started to fade. In his hands, he held a Barret M82 and pointed it at the door uneasy, staggering slightly on his feet. As Rossi's footsteps came closer and his voice more audible, the man started to take position and moved from the wall towards the door, ready to take down whoever was in his house. Morgan softly informed Rossi of Waters movement, but the man's voice continued to fill the rooms.

"Sir, I can get to him. If you distract him, I can get to him. He's only a couple of feet away, it's a matter of seconds."

"Negative Scott, hold your position."

Abby sighed annoyed and locked her eyes on the man again. Sooner or later, Rossi, with his confidence, would open the door, hands slightly raised in the air and Waters would shoot him. Sniper rifles weren't designed for close range shooting, but it would sure do its damage. They had to do something that didn't revolve around putting their fate in the hands of a crazy, drunken war veteran.

Carefully, Abby shifted her weight and her back slid a few inches towards the door. She could see Morgan from the corner of her eye, his eyes shifting between Waters and Abby.

"Scott. Hold your position."

She shortly raised her hand in order to acknowledge, but she looked down to see where to place her foot.

"Scott." Morgan's voice was hushed but she could hear the threatening tone. And she could swear that she saw Joseph's eyes flash in their direction.

"I'm looking for options Morgan."

He shook his head at her before she took another step. It was a small, soft sound, but in Abby's ears, it was like a tuning fork had been hit right in front of her ears. Seconds turned into minutes and subconsciously, a million thoughts and series of actions ran through Abby's mind. As time moved forward in its normal pace again, Abby put all the weight on her right leg and turned. She launched forward, grabbing Morgan and pulling him to the floor.

The grenade that exploded rang in their ears, deafening them as their eardrums vibrated. Morgan and Scott were covered in dust and small debris within seconds and Abby could hear Hotch and Rossi taking over the UnSub. Prentiss' heels approached them and she called out to them.

Abby was laying half on top of her new partner and they were both slowly getting up. She blinked a couple of times to get the sand out of her eyes as Abby looked back to where she was standing a few seconds ago. Half the wall was gone.

"Morgan, are you okay?" Prentiss rushed over to their side and she helped him up.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Scott?"

"Yeah, yeah, all good."

"What the hell happened?" She exclaimed slightly, her voice riddled with surprise and shock.

"He booby trapped the second entrance." Abby answered.

"With a grenade?"

"Yeah, well-" Abby slowly got on her feet and tried to wipe some dirt off her pants. "You use what you got."

Morgan shortly looked at her after hearing the comment as he put his hand on the back of his head. When he pulled back, there was some blood on his hand. Abby partly spun him around and spotted the nasty looking, but harmless cut. She petted Morgan firmly on the back to let him know he was fine. Suddenly, wild and fierce eyes were staring at Abby and she almost took a step back in shock. Agent Hotchner holstered his weapon and looked at one of his best agents.

"Morgan, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Where's Waters?"

"Rossi got him, he's taking him downstairs. What the hell happened?" His furious gaze now shifted back towards Abby. "I told you to hold your position."

"Sir, I was merely trying to get a better view of the room. Waters was pointing his rifle at the door. One wrong move and he-"

"Could have blown you both up. What the hell were you thinking?" He was pissed, she understood, but if would just hear her out.

"Hotch I-"

"You endangered-"

"Would you let me finish please?"

At that moment, Abby wished she hadn't moved and the grenade would have blown her to pieces. Or that Waters would have pointed his gun at her and blown her brains out. Or perhaps, if she was lucky, the explosion damaged the house enough so that it would collapse right on top of her. She closed her eyes for a second, bit her lip and raised her left hand shortly.

"I mean no disrespect. Waters was on the move, he was going to shoot. I was trying to see if I could have a better look at the UnSub and calculate if we could draw his attention, see if we would have enough cover."

"Rossi had the UnSub." Hotch replied sternly, his glare still ever so furious.

"With all due respect sir, but you didn't see Waters. He was agitated, sweaty, his hands were shaking. He wasn't going down without a fight. We infiltrated his house. We looked like the enemy."

"When I give you an order, you follow that order. Are we clear?" His face was inches away from hers and his eyes seemed to spit fire.

"Yes, sir." She nodded once.

"Don't ever try this again. We had the UnSub." Hotch repeated.

Abby nodded again and planted her hand on her hip in hidden annoyance and disguised shame. Prentiss and Morgan followed Hotch downstairs, the dark agent sending Abby once last glance before turning his back towards her. She stood still for a couple of seconds, her head tilted backwards and she let out some air. Then, she spun on her feet and kicked the wall.

_Great day to screw up_.

* * *

17.10

Abby rested her head against the clean seat and looked outside the window. They had taken off twenty minutes ago, back towards Quantico. Morgan, completely checked out in the hospital, JJ and Reid sat diagonal on the other side of the isle, playing cards, Rossi and Prentiss watching them amused. Hotch, as always, positioned him just outside the group dynamics and was watching everybody. JJ and Morgan exclaimed loudly as Reid shouted 'Gin!' and won again. JJ asked for a rematch as Morgan smiled widely at the young genius.

"You'll never win from me JJ."

Prentiss laughed at Reid's comment and when Abby flashed her gaze over to Hotch, she could see him crack a smile. Their eyes met and almost ashamed, Abby turned away as Morgan caught her action as well.

"There was no way you could have known he booby trapped the house."

His words made her tilt her head back again, resting it against the soft fabric as she looked at the handsome exterior of Derek Morgan. JJ and Reid also turned their heads towards her and she could practically hear Hotch listening to her movements.

"I should have held my position. You don't disobey a direct order." She muttered.

"We got Waters out of there alive. That's the most important thing." Hotch and Abby's eyes met again and he looked at her sternly, as if saying that it didn't justify her actions, but counted for something. And that she never ever should endanger his team like that.

"So, how'd I do?" Heads and eyes turned towards her again, not sure of what she meant or where she was going. She smiled shortly. "Did I pass your test? I know you've been keeping an eye on me."

Rossi was the first to speak and took the open invitation to profile Abby. "You're ordered, disciplined. You respect your superiors, you respect the uniform, but you're too young to have been a cop to understand the hierarchy which means you mostly likely come from a family of cops."

"Yet you disobeyed a direct order in the line of duty. That means you have experience in the field, perhaps even makes you arrogant enough to think that you know better." Abby could see Prentiss as she spoke, imagining that the black haired agent was looking at Rossi when she talked.

"And a few bad experiences as well." She sent her gaze towards Hotch and found his eyes staring dead ahead at her. "You keep looking for exits, you always sit opposite from the door or in a position in which you can easily see your surroundings and overlook the area. The fact that you disobeyed the order to stand down, tells me that you've experienced a similar situation that didn't end well and that you felt it was your fault because you didn't do anything. You carry your gun lower on your hip, easy access, so when the time is there, you'll be the first to reach it. _You know_ how easily a situation can go wrong."

"I'm thinking military experience. You're expertise on guns is remarkable for someone of your age. I'd say that you were in some sort of sniper training program yourself." Inwardly, Abby smiled at herself. They were good and the fact that Reid hit it dead-on, made her want to snicker.

"Most importantly, your mother left when you were little."

This comment made her look up and look at Morgan. Despite her best efforts, shivers rolled down her spine as she realised how right he was and feared that if he know how right he was, things would certainly go downhill. She knew that she had probably blown her cover by looking at Morgan that quickly, exposing the tattoo in her neck as she cocked her head to the side (_force of habit)_ but still she remained her composure and didn't move.

"What makes you think that?"

"You couldn't handle the victim's parents.. You spoke to the fathers, but avoided the mothers. You're formal, a tad aggressive, cold, simple. You literally distance yourself from them and don't connect with them. And you don't apologize. All points to a childhood with no mother to humanize you."

"You're saying that I'm cold-hearted?" She retorted quickly.

"I'm saying that you missed a mother's love which would have learned you how to show compassion and how to empathise with people."

"Assuming she would have been a good mother."

"She wasn't?" He replied rapid and sharp.

"I don't know. But I do know that not all mothers deserve the best mom award."

* * *

20.15

After they had arrived at the Headquarters again, Hotch had asked Abby to come to his office. There was no threat in his voice, nor anger or mistrust. She tried to figure out if he actually worked on the tone of his voice to make it sound friendly, or that he genuinely just wanted her to go to his office without being the enemy.

Patiently, she waited outside the office as Hotch took care of some last paperwork with JJ and said his team goodbye. When he walked the stairs and spotted Abby standing outside his office, she could tell that he didn't expected her to correctly wait outside. He didn't, however, say a word and simply opened the door for her.

"Take a seat."

She did as she was told and waited for Aaron Hotchner to start talking. After three days, Hotch must have picked up that she didn't like bullshit and to cut to the chase right away. The fact that he did cut right to the chase surprised Abby. "You're good at what you do."

"Okay.. Then why did you have Morgan profile me?" She replied.

"He wasn't profiling you, he was asked to keep an eye on you. We don't know why you're here. We don't know what happened in Atlanta." He tried to explain.

"Nothing happened in Atlanta. I don't know why they transferred me." Abby may have looked like she couldn't care less and her attitude was somewhat composed and cool, her words were genuine and Hotch could tell that they were.

"Okay. I believe you."

"You could have just asked sir."

"Would you have answered? Honestly?"

She shrugged half-heartedly. "I'm here now. I got to make the best of it."

"Are you? Going to make the best of it? Be part of this team?"

That question hit her shields like a bullet. It ricocheted of the invisible wall, but it was certainly felt and heard. She couldn't answer that question, simply, because she didn't know herself. Was she, going to be part of this team? After everything that happened in Atlanta, her old team and friends, could she leave them behind just like that? She still hoped that there had been some sort of mistake and she would be called back to Atlanta anytime now. She knew that that wasn't going to happen and it was a good thing that she was standing alone, in the darkness, outside the airport while smoking a cigarette as she figured that out, because if the profilers were around, she would have a big problem.

"Have you apologized to Morgan?" Hotch's voice penetrated her mind and she looked back at him.

"No. Should I?"

"You jeopardized his life."

Abby understood now what Hotch was talking about and nodded. "On it, sir."

"Okay. That's all. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes sir." Abby stood up and walked to the door, noticing that Hotch stared at a stack of papers that he probably had to finish. She looked at him once more before opening the door.

"And Scott?"

She halted and turned back towards her new supervisor. "Yeah?"

"Stop calling me sir."

"Okay…" Her voice trailed off, not sure of what to say. First thing came to mind and she left his office after speaking the word with a odd taste in her mouth and a entertained expression on her face. "Aaron."

He sighed and shook his head as the agent walked past his office, grabbed her black backpack from her desk and ran into Garcia . Garcia who was, at first, hostile and pointing one of her many pens at Abby, to which the brunette reacted surprised and somewhat shocked, but then the blonde morphed back to her old self again and put on her famous smile. They talked shortly before Abby headed out the door after glancing over her shoulder once just to make sure the technical analyst wasn't following her or decided to still stab a pen into her neck.

* * *

21.07

"Hey."

"Hey. What are you doing here?"

"Hotch wants me to apologize. So.. Just tell him I'm being a good puppy."

"Haven't heard an apology."

Abby bit on her lip as she tilted her head back, remaining her eye contact with Derek Morgan. She stood outside his apartment, smoking a cigarette with on hand in the pocket of her long black coat. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"So, apologize." Morgan leant back against his doorframe and crossed his arms before his chest. Abby couldn't help but to notice the muscles and seemingly smoothness of his skin. She smiled and nodded.

"Goodnight Morgan." She turned and inhaled before stepping down the steps.

"How long?"

Abby stopped and turned around on the last stone step, blowing out the smoke. "How long what?"

"How long did you serve in the Army?"

"Who says it was the Army?" She replied.

"You don't strike me as a Navy Seal or a pilot."

"But I do strike you as an Army person?" She raised her eyebrows and smiled.

"Regular G.I. Jane."

She licked her lips. "Three years. How'd you know?"

There was more behind Abby's question and the moment that Morgan paused shortly before answering, told her that he knew. "You don't apologize. Not to me, not to the victim's family."

"So?"

"So you've seen more than you bargained for."

"Four years with the SCU will do that to ya."

"I'm not talking about the SCU."

"I am."

"Sensitive subject, why?"

"Uncle or surrogate father." She knew she struck a nerve and she could see the shields repair itself before Morgan's eyes. Still, she needed to create distance, and pushing him back with an observation like that, seemed like the best way to go.

"Don't have an uncle." The comment could potentially lead to thoughts, theories, ideas and cautious, pitiful looks, but Morgan's entire attitude screamed back off at her. Abby figured the only reason why he even said it, opened the doors for her to ruminate, cogitate and ponder about the subject, was to gain something. He was lucky.

"It's classified." Abby lived by a simple rule; if you take something, then you must give something. It was plain, easy and simple. In this case, she took some trust from Morgan and he answered her honestly. In return, she had to give him some of her trust and give him something back.

"Classified? Why"

"I don't know. Because the government likes putting red stamps on files, makes them look important." She replied sarcastically.

"How'd you know where I lived?"

"I looked it up."

"I own four properties."

Abby smirked at that comment and turned around again. She replied with a witty comment as she walked away, heading into the darkness of the night.

"Lucky guess."

* * *

_"Whoever wishes to keep a secret must hide the fact that he possesses one."  
_Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe


End file.
